The Stakeout
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: Boyd is on surveillance, not one of his favourite things to do, but this time it's something he needs to do.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating k **

**Hey everyone. Thanks for taking the time to read this – as always it is very much appreciated. **

**The Stakeout**

He hates this part of the job. Hour upon relentless hour spent cooped up within the confines of a vehicle and no matter how comfortable an Audi may be it still isn't spacious enough to contend with his large imposing form.

Shifting heavily, Boyd moves his weight in an attempt to ease his discomfort. The burn in his back makes him grimace with pain. He's too old for this. Too old to freeze his balls off and punish his back when he could be at home, feet up and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He knows this is a young man's game yet for all his self-awareness he still finds himself night after night driving across the city, parking his car inconspicuously across the street and waiting.

'Waiting'. His life is consumed by this wait. Almost two weeks has passed since it began, and yet he is no further forward. He tells himself 'It takes time to catch a fox', but undoubtedly he is growing increasingly impatient. A constant battle rages within him. Impatience pitted doggedly against stubbornness. He is driven relentlessly by both but it is his innate stubbornness that keeps him returning. Stubbornness and a destructive desire to know the truth.

A light illuminates the interior hallway of the house he's watching making Boyd sit up a little straighter. Subconsciously he twists his arm, glances at his watch while making a mental note of the time. A shadowy figure appears silhouetted against the glass of the door. He feels his pulse quicken as he recognises the outline instantly. It's a familiar form, almost as recognisable as his own. Endless hours of observing someone's movements results in you beginning to know them, how they move, every intimate detail of their body.

The figure hovers for a few minutes in the hallway. A telephone call maybe? Boyd knows from past surveillance the exact position of the hall table on which the phone sits. Based on this knowledge a phone call is entirely plausible. His mind wanders. Who's on the other end of the line? Is it him? Are they arranging to meet? Maybe this is the call that will finally provide the breakthrough he needs and end this hellish wait.

The light disappears as quickly as it appeared, closely followed by the arrival of another, this time upstairs. The large bay window of the front bedroom has white wooden blinds that are tightly closed, blocking out the world outside. Whatever is happening behind the veil remains a mystery to Boyd.

Time passes slowly but still he waits. A car slows as it approaches the house causing him to lower himself in his seat to avoid being seen. The brake lights illuminate the road as it pulls alongside the kerb and draws to a stop. His heart beats faster, and he becomes aware of the clamminess of his palms. This could be the moment he's been waiting for. A horn blares and Boyd's head turns as his attention is directed towards the house once again. The front door opens and the occupant emerges. He watches as the figure cautiously locks the door and walks the short distance along the drive towards the waiting car. He wants to rush out. Restrain them and hustle them into the back of his car, ending this nightmare of a surveillance. He's tired of it. Tired of waiting. Tired of wondering what is happening behind the walls of this urban semi-detached house opposite. He is tired of what he is becoming.

The car begins to pull away and Boyd knows he must follow. Carefully he starts the engine and pulls out into the road keeping a safe distance behind the other vehicle. Slowly they navigate through the busy London streets. Boyd's mind is racing. Who is driving the other car? Is he finally going to come face to face with the man who's been his tormentor for the past few weeks. The car in front begins to slow, indicating to pull into a parking space ahead. Boyd passes praying he is unnoticed as he pulls into the first available space a little further along the road. He raises his gaze adjusting the rear view mirror so his view is unrestricted.

His senses are heightened. He feels his body come alive with the adrenaline that is pumping through his veins. His mind has long since conjured up a mental image of what he imagines this man to be like - surveillance gives you plenty of time to do that - and now finally he's about to discover how close to the truth he is.

The driver's door opens and a tall figure emerges. He's not at all how Boyd has imagined. And imagined he has.

This man is willowy, tall and lean, almost as if a strong wind would bend and break him. _He_ could break him, Boyd thinks. He could easily snap his neck with the minimal of pressure. And he would do it to, so help him he would, if he ever…

The passenger door opens and his focus shifts to the elegant lady that he knows so well, the one whose house he has been sitting outside night after freezing night. Boyd knows every line of her body, how she moves, the way she breathes. He can recognise her scent immediately, its floral and musk undertones filling his soul with warmth and sensual familiarity. But this knowledge isn't something he has gained from a few weeks spent alone in his car; no, these intimate details he has gleaned from the years he's worked closely alongside her.

For as long as he can remember, he's loved watching her. She carries herself with ease and often throughout the day he finds himself mindlessly staring in wonder. This strong and beautiful woman had captivated him entirely and yet she seems completely oblivious to his interest. It was infuriating almost as much as it was so damn attractive.

He's tried to tell her, many times. More than once he's invited her to share a drink with him after hours. They've talked. They've laughed. But never about anything really meaningful. Never about how they feel. How he feels.

Over the years they've both had various partners but this time something's different. Her tone, her demeanour, how her eyes light up when she mentions his name; Hugh Hamilton-Smith. This man is different and Boyd had to see for himself; had to know who it is that has stolen her from him. And now here he is large as frigging life and standing right in front of him.

He'd wondered how he'd feel when he finally saw him. Numb with a tinge of sadness weighing heavy around him, but it's the uncontrollable surge of jealousy that stabs him venomously. He hates him. A man he's never met and Boyd absolutely hates him. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter as bile begins to rise from the pit of his stomach. One wrong move; just once should he hurt her and Boyd will destroy him.

He sighs loudly as an arm snakes around Grace's waist and watches as they walk arm-in-arm towards the restaurant conversing easily with each other. One day he will make his move, come clean and tell her everything. One day …

Boyd takes one last look and commits Mr Hamilton-Smith's image to memory. Silently he makes a vow, should he ever break her heart, should he even look at her in the wrong way, then Boyd will find him, and show Mr Hamilton-Smith exactly just how much Grace means to him.

Fin

Page **2** of **2**


End file.
